All Cecilia knew was that it was barely past dawn when she felt someone gently shaking her. Had she not almost rolled face-first into the sand, she'd have likely forgotten where she was.

"Are you awake?" It was Angela. "Jimmy and Richard had some business to attend to. I thought I should look for you."

Cecilia sat up slowly, picking up her coat, and shook off the sand, muttering, "Damn" under her breath. The wind was strong, and Angela averted her eyes as the sand whipped past her. When Cecilia finally gathered her composure, she locked eyes with Angela, and stammered, "Thank you. You're not sleeping yourself?"

"No." She motioned toward the house. "Would you like some coffee?"

Cecilia still wasn't sure what to make of Angela. She seemed lonely. A bit sad. And after being left by herself on the beach, Cecilia wasn't keen on facing the day alone. Flooded by his presence, then so abruptly thwarted by his absence, she feared this would be a silence she couldn't fill with song.

"You're very kind. I'd love some."

The women started back towards the boardwalk, exchanging few words. Cecilia relished how the memory of the previous evening washed over her, a warm, electric rush. Her unruly curls were a nuisance in the sea-charged wind. She was dismayed that one of the heart-shaped hairpins had been lost in the sand while she was sleeping.

"Did they tell you where they were going?"

Angela shook her head. "Jimmy came down to the beach to fetch Richard before sunrise."

"I'll be damned." Cecilia immediately looked sheepish. "Excuse me."

"I don't offend easily," Angela laughed, setting the coffee pot on the stove. Its aroma quickly filled the house, and suddenly Cecilia felt a peculiar emptiness. Even the clicking sound the clock made reminded her of him. If only she'd stayed awake…would he have said something more? Would he have told her where he was going, or where he hoped to go?

Angela joined her at the table. "Cecilia, may I speak plainly?"

Cecilia stared into Angela's face, searching for some semblance of hope, encouragement. There was none. Reluctantly, she managed, "You may."

"It's really hard to imagine what they went through. In the war, the things they saw. But when they do come home, it's like being with a stranger. And I don't know which is worse – when he wakes up screaming in the middle of the night, or the days when there's only silence."

Cecilia nodded. "Daniel wrote letters. He always worried that he would distress me. But I didn't mind. To me, they were just stories." She looked back up at Angela. "I can only imagine the things Jimmy's told you."

"No. Actually, I think Richard's confided in me more than Jimmy has."

Cecilia winced, glad that Angela's back was turned as she poured the coffee. Difficult to disguise, however, was the tension in her voice. "Is that so?" She shifted in her chair, fidgeted with her hair, and a few grains of sand fell and scattered onto the table. Angela took the seat beside her.

"I know this much. What he's seen has disconnected him, in a sense, from his own heart. Or that's what he believes."

To Cecilia, it was starting to sound like she was being assigned to a dangerous mission, and she bristled up at the thought. She was, admittedly, jealous that Angela had gained such insight, while she wasn't even able to stay awake long enough to touch the surface. But she'd have preferred to endure countless nights as Angela described, rather than bear the brevity of the dreaded telegram. She thought often of the people who prepared those things, how to them she was one of the countless, faceless scores of mothers, wives, sisters… She pondered Angela, gingerly waking her on the beach, but whose own sleep was likely shattered by Jimmy's nightmares. Indeed, a burden to bear.

Angela continued. "But…the way he was pacing before you arrived. The way he gazes at you. When Jimmy was leaving this morning, I asked what became of you both. He said, 'Damned if he wouldn't have just sat there watching her sleep if I let him. I'd be out of business.'"

Cecilia was too taken aback to laugh, and so she said nothing, just closed her eyes for a long moment, trying to picture his face with her mind's eye, trying to imagine him beside her again. Her chest tightened, as it seemed her heart was near bursting. It was a nearly unbearable pain, one she both welcomed and resisted. She rested her chin in her hand.

"Have you ever heard him laugh?"

This time, Angela all but squealed like a schoolgirl. "Tell me you have?"

"Last night. It could have been at me. I didn't care. It was the most beautiful thing in the world." Cecilia sighed. "Oh, listen to me prattle on. I sound so foolish."

Angela touched Cecilia's shoulder reassuringly, but Cecilia's smile had already faded. "So perhaps you can tell me, Mrs. Darmody. What's a fool to do?"

Angela was unable to find any words at all, let alone an answer. Just as reluctant to part ways and face the silence alone, Cecilia drank her coffee as slowly as she could. Angela was quick on her feet, quicker still to pour another cup, even before Cecilia had the chance to ask.

The metal edges were slightly discolored, but when the tiny crystals caught the muted light, it reminded him of the stars. He sat quietly, surreptitiously traced the outline of the heart with his index finger. It would be fitting to adorn the pages of "Home." It would be safe there, nestled amid the images he'd pasted, if not a bit out-of-place against a one-dimensional backdrop. Or, he could keep it in his pocket – but with his coat still reeking of gunpowder, that too was unseemly. It was starting to rain. The prongs dug a little into the palm of his hand, but he held fast, so not to drop it as he ran.

He tried to be as careful as he could, removing the pin from her hair, but he still managed to catch a strand or two, and she remained sleeping. Conversely, he fought against it with every cell in his body, as if by sheer will he could bid the night to never end. But end it did, the moment Jimmy beckoned him.

Richard made his way up the stairs. The rain was merciless. He stuck the hairpin into the keyhole, but stumbled against the railing, inadvertently agitating some poor creature, whose shrieks likely startled the whole of Atlantic County. Lights flickered on, one after another. He saw a shadow dart across the window, and he froze. And onto the porch staggered a very sleepy, very perplexed Cecilia.

She wasn't entirely certain whether this was a dream, but without a word, she hustled him inside and closed the door behind him. "Richard? What's wrong?"

He didn't answer. He just stared, his trembling hand still clenched around the hairpin. "Poor dear, you're drenched." She took his hat, slid the coat from his shoulders, and dropped both on the floor when he suddenly reached out and embraced her with such force she nearly lost her balance. She steadied herself, pressed her head to his chest, and held him close. His voice was barely audible over the storm; if in fact they were words at all, she wasn't certain.

"I'm sorry. I had to leave. This morning."

"I know, Richard, it's all right."

"Hmm."

Without much thought, Cecilia reached up to touch the side of his face, and in doing so nearly dislodged the wire spectacles that held his mask in place. He moved to stop her, and as he did she felt something sharp in his hand. In the dim light, she didn't recognize it as her missing hairpin; all she could see was the glistening heart.

"I should. Give this back—"

Realizing what it was, Cecilia shook her head, her lips parted in what looked like a smile. She placed it in his breast pocket. Then, his arms still around her, his heart racing, he closed his eye and let her remove the mask. She set it down on the mantle, and he had barely a second to ponder how her lips felt on the left side of his face before he found himself kissing her back.